I voted… it felt good!

Early voting began last week and I have received a ton of messages through social media from an assortment of friends saying “I Voted.” On Sunday I was reflecting on the importance of voting during a worship service when a young man in his 40’s named “Wes” shouted from the pews… “Pastor Rudy, I voted for the first time in my life this week and it felt good.” Wes spent a number of years behind bars but turned his life around and was elated with the opportunity to participate in the voting process.

A few days ago after voting, I too felt good. I thought for a moment that I have never in my entire life connected the act of voting with an emotional response. But these are not normal times. I reflected on what must have triggered such emotions, I imagined the power of the voting booth and what must have gone through my friend Wes’ mind the moment the ballot was cast. It was time for my own experience so I stopped at an early voting place in my neighborhood, got in a line of voters about a quarter-mile long, inched along for about an hour, walked through the certification process, step up to the new fangled voting booth and scrolled through the long list of candidates and amendments and pressed the big red button marked “cast.” I voted… and it felt good.

It felt good to cast a vote as I reflected on the sacrifices made by countless men and women of all races for the right to vote in America. A right that came to pass in spite of barking dogs, water hoses, night-sticks, armed militias, and bogus laws.

It felt good to cast a vote as I recalled the murder of voting-rights activists in Philadelphia, Mississippi, and the unprovoked attack on March 7, 1965, by state troopers on peaceful marchers crossing the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama that ultimately led to the Voting Rights Act. Redemption occurs in every vote.

It felt good to cast a vote as I remembered my Auntie Mae Mae’s commitment to the right to vote as she and her friends stood on street corners campaigning for their candidate of choice ultimately managing elections at “colored only” polling places under the close scrutiny of poll watchers.

It felt good to cast a vote as I thought about the power my mother must have experienced in the old days when the thick heavy curtain of vintage voting booths closed around her, protecting her privacy as she picked me up allowing me to turn the levers for her candidates of choice giving me my first glimpse of what freedom really meant in America.

It felt good to cast a vote as I reflected on a conversation with my two daughters who shared their enthusiasm regarding participating in this years election.

And finally, It felt good to cast a vote because my dad loved the political process but died eight years ago on the 4th of July before having an opportunity see, discuss, experience, debate, curse, complain, and vote in this years monumental election.

There is a large scar on my heart caused from being forced to drink from separate public water fountains marked “Coloreds Only” until I was 12 years old. I voted last week and that scar began to heal again. Wes thanks for a fresh reminder of the value of a wonderful privilege.